


To New Beginnings

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Future, Points of View, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: My take on what happens beyond 513. Assumes show canon.





	To New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: I never really expected to be a fanfiction writer, but this story came into my head and I had to get it down. It's un-beta'd, but I proofread it a couple times myself so hopefully I caught everything. Hope you enjoy it, and feel free to review!  


* * *

After Justin left for the bright lights of the big city, we didn't communicate for nearly nine months. I knew he spoke with his mother, though, so I wasn't worried that he was lying dead in an alley somewhere. I'd offered him my credit card, but he said it would have defeated the whole purpose of going.

The first few days after he left, I almost expected the phone to ring, and for him to be on the other side, complaining passionately (as he does all things) about the rent in New York. 

The first few weeks after he left, I arranged for the sale of the "palace" and for the reconstruction of Babylon to its old glory. I did want to change for Justin... at that point I would have done anything to keep him, but it wouldn't have been right - it wouldn't have been me - and somewhat pathetically, that bombed-out building was an integral part of my character.

But I didn't trick as often, and I didn't hire any blond hustlers either. One big truth of the matter, though, was that I was a man of ...thirty-four years... and clubbing six nights a week was starting to look pathetic -- and I'll be damned if Brian Kinney ever looks pathetic. When I did make it out, I didn't prowl the backroom. I took my pick from the writhing bodies on the dance floor up to my private VIP room, which actually did wonders for my reputation. All the fags were dying to see the inside of that room and have their piece of the newly mysterious me. And if I had a particular itch for exhibitionism, the baths were my venue of choice.

With my son, my boyfriend and my wild nights suddenly gone, I found myself with more spare time than ever. So I did the only other things I knew; I worked my ass off, and out. Seven months after Justin left, I received news that several Kinnetik campaigns were nominated for Clio Awards. The ceremony was to be held in New York City.

I didn't want to be the first to make contact, but I had to admit that I might have missed him. I sent him an email (hoping he still used the same one) with the details of the night: I would have his name put next to mine on the guest list at the hall and leave my spare room key for him at the Four Seasons in Manhattan.

The "family" wasn't to know about the awards and I swore Ted to secrecy. The last thing I needed was to be bothered about whether I would see Justin when I didn't even know the answer. I received no reply to my email, nor did I receive any notification that his email address no longer existed.

He didn't come to the Clios. I kept an eye out for his blond head but there was nothing. Kinnetik took home a couple silvers -- spectacular for a firm of its size and experience. I can't say my mind was all there, though, and I stayed just long enough to receive congratulations (and not-quite-politely thank Vance for firing me) before heading back to the hotel.

He was lying in my bed, in the dark, already naked. No words were spoken as I stripped out of my tux to join him. He smiled with questioning eyes at my new physique, and I shrugged. He looked a bit thinner, and his hair was a bit longer, but he was all Justin and at that moment, he was the only thing in the world that could satisfy me.

We fucked. Then made love. And then we sucked and fucked again. The only sounds in the room were of flesh against flesh, moans, groans, and one or two whispered "I love you"s in the dark. It just wasn't time to talk. He wasn't there when I woke up. I didn't think he would be. And if it hadn't been for a sketch of me lying in bed, sheets around my waist showing off my newly-defined chest and abs, I would have thought I dreamed the night.

I went back to Pittsburgh, and I didn't hear from him again until almost a year later when I received a letter in the mail from a small accounting practice in New York. It was a ledger sheet, detailing various living expenses for various amounts of time, as well as an amount owing for a trip to New York and PIFA tuition and respective interest charges. The total was just under $100,000. Also in the envelope was a cheque for $10,000. I didn't want to cash it, but I understood what he needed me to do. So I did, and the cheque went through. I found myself wondering what would happen when the ledger balance reached zero.

I continued to sporadically receive the cheques for varying amounts, with a new statement of balance each time. Ben passed away after two years. Justin wasn't at the funeral, but there was a large framed painting of Ben, smiling with his arms around Mikey, at the viewing. Mikey and I were still fairly close (we had come to a mutual understanding) and we made trips to Toronto together on a fairly regular basis. The girls moved home after Ben died, though, so that Michael could be closer to JR. Hunter, reminded of his own mortality, took off backpacking in Europe, sending the family into sheer panic. But he wrote home often, and promised to have Mikey's name and number tattooed on his body -- though we don't know if he actually went through with it.

Gus was a boy of eight, and every bit of a smart ass as his father. He was also just a really cool kid, despite having gone to that stuffy Toronto private school Linds and Mel had me bankroll. One day, he told me he was supposed to keep a secret, but he didn't like keeping secrets. A blond man visited a few times in Toronto, always with a half-dozen paintings, and Lindsay would be really happy. Gus liked the guy, whose name he said was Jeremy Hilary, and wanted to know more about him. My fingers itched to pop the name into an internet search engine, but I didn't. There was method to Justin's madness, and I wasn't going to spoil it for him. I could wait. It's only time.

Four years after Justin left, I finally got a new place to live. I specifically went with Jenn, who by now had remarried and was doing very well for herself, as my realtor. I figured that she would let Justin know of the new address so he could continue to contact me. I bought an old house on a large (for an urban area) lot in an uptown area close to Liberty Avenue, tore it down, and had an open-concept bungalow built in its place. Gus had his own room, and there were a couple others to spare for guests. I had a pool put into the backyard, but no stables or tennis courts. After all, this was my house.

Five years after Justin left, I found myself being named one of America's most eligible gay bachelors by a national publication. It was pretty fucking awesome, I'm not going to lie, but suffering through the publicity interviews was less than ideal. They all wanted to know why I was single, what I was looking for, and whether I'd ever settle down. At forty, I was the head of an ad agency on the verge of becoming international, and owned a small chain of popular nightclubs... not to mention my hot body, full head of hair, and Botox-free expression (I had regular laser treatments instead, because everyone knows how much I love to use my eyebrows.) But I still didn't date. My social life consisted of my son, and all of my paired-off friends -- even Michael began dating again. When they asked me why, I went with the standard "waiting for the right person to come along". What I didn't mention was that he was here, once, and I was waiting for him to return. I stayed out of the Pitts for a few months after that, having grown tired of being mobbed. I spent some time managing the San Francisco branch of Kinnetik. It was easier to be anonymous in a city where fame and a quarter would buy you a phone call.

By the sixth year Justin left, I stopped receiving cheques. The balance stood at $1000 -- not a large amount for someone whose cheques for $20,000 cleared. Walking into Lindsay's gallery one day, I spotted an intense painting by Jeremy Hilary with a $10,000 price tag. It called to me, but I didn't buy it. It would be cheating.

Then Gus’ twelfth birthday rolled around. I didn't consider any other possible special events on that date so I was surprised to find a package with a Paris, France postmark at my door. I opened the box to find a smaller box, and a letter. The smaller box contained a white Hermes cashmere scarf, with the price tag left on. The letter just said, "Now we're even. But unlike you, I'm ready to settle down at 30."

 

Today is Justin's thirtieth birthday. I took the day off work. I don't really know why. I'm sitting my living room, reading a book by the big picture window and I hear someone pull up to the house.

As Justin walks up the stone path from a limousine, just ahead of a chauffer following with Louis Vuitton luggage, I can see his trademark smile, with just a few shallow lines, and I know we made the right decision.

I open the door to give him entrance, and we kiss -- really kiss -- for the first time since New York. The chauffer clears his throat, and hands Justin a bottle of champagne. I take a look at the label.

"Well, well... we certainly have learned to celebrate like a king," I say. He laughs in response and kisses me again.

I grab a couple goblets from the bar in the living room and join him where he lies in front of the fireplace. We toast. Our glasses, filled with aged Dom Perignon, clink together before we raise them to our own mouths.

To new beginnings.

 

 

* Final notes: I pulled the name Jeremy Hilary from IMDb's character info for Yellow Submarine. Also, I've made a lot of assumptions on time. I hope it was easy enough to follow, as well as being believable. Finally, I was one of the minority who actually enjoyed the Brian/Justin ending as it was. I didn't think it was necessarily in-character for Justin to go on living on Brian's dollar, and besides, with a 12-year age difference, there was a lot more for Justin to experience. Of course, I would have liked to see the "future" of it. This is my own little way of doing it, I guess.


End file.
